Rat Patrol: The Degrees of Fear Raid
by Syl
Summary: After Sgt. Jack Moffitt is taken prisoner, he is faced with a moral dilemma, the necessary assassination of a captured partisan who is close to breaking. Warning: Scenes of torture and explicit violence.


**Summary**: After Sgt. Jack Moffitt is taken prisoner, he is faced with a moral dilemma, the necessary assassination of a captured partisan who is close to breaking. (Warning: Scenes of torture and explicit violence.)

**Author's Note**: Written in response to the following challenge from The Rat Patrol Writers Group: Write a story where the boys are NOT victorious in their mission. The title was inspired from a quote by John Wainwright. Finally, thanks to Sue and Judith for taking the time to beta.

**Disclaimer**: _The Rat Patrol _and all related characters belong to Mirisch-Rich Productions, Tom Gries Productions, and United Artists Television; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback--the positive and negative kind--is welcome and encouraged.

Copyright: June 2006

* * *

The Degrees of Fear Raid

by Syl Francis

Sgt. Jack Moffitt and Pvt. Tully Pettigrew were two days behind enemy lines and in trouble. They had been on an Intelligence scouting mission, investigating reports of a secret German compound. What caught G-2's interest was the field cap badge that a lone camel driver had brought in--the skull and crossbones insignia of the SS.

Their teammates, Sgt. Sam Troy and Pvt. Mark Hitchcock, had split off to scout a second possible location. If the SS were in the area and maintaining a low profile, then the Patrol needed to locate them and determine their mission.

Unfortunately, at the moment Moffitt and Tully's own mission was on indefinite hold.

"Axle's broke, Sarge." Tully's muffled voice came from the depths beneath the jeep. Sliding out, he glared up in disgust at Moffitt. His blond hair was matted with sweat and sand, his face and hands streaked with black grease. Throwing his hands up, he added, "There's nothing I can do."

"Blast it all," Moffitt muttered. "And I can't raise Troy on the bloody radio. He and Hitch must still be out of range." He sighed and shrugged. "Well, there's no helping it. We'll have to set up camp nearby, and every hour or so we'll try to raise them. We're too far behind enemy lines to try walking back, I'm afraid."

"Uh-oh," Tully said. "Looks like company." He pointed at a telltale dust cloud that had appeared on the horizon.

Nodding, Moffitt took out his binoculars and studied the cloud. There was enough sand being kicked up to indicate a small convoy. "I'm afraid that out here, the only company we're likely to receive is the kind we don't want."

"So…what now?" Tully asked.

"What do you **_think_**?" Moffitt asked ironically. He started grabbing whatever ammo cases and weapons he could carry. He looked regretfully at the bazooka and shook his head. Reaching for the two Thompsons, he slung them over his shoulder. "Dismount the fifty," he said. "We'll set up a defensive perimeter on the other side of that rise." He pointed at a rocky outcropping that would provide the best cover, or rather, the only cover.

Tully nodded, quickly undoing the clasps and bolts that secured the 50-caliber Browning automatic machinegun to the jeep mount. Lowering it to the jeep's bed, he jumped off the vehicle, and took out the stored tripod, used for dismounted firing. Lifting the heavy weapon, he hauled it onto his right shoulder and then grasped the tripod firmly with his left hand. Heavily loaded down, he looked expectantly at Moffitt.

"Take off!" Moffitt ordered. "Set up the fifty where you'll have the best field of fire. I'll be right behind."

Tully nodded and headed toward the outcropping, stumbling awkwardly under the more than 130 pounds of dead weight.

Moffitt took out three thermite grenades, designed to reach white-hot temperatures upwards of four thousand degrees Fahrenheit and could thus melt through metal, to destroy the radio, jeep engine, and bazooka.

Hurrying, he carried the bazooka a few yards away and laid it on the sand. Pulling the fuse on one of the thermite grenades, he placed it on the anti-tank weapon. Within seconds the grenade blazed white, and the bazooka was reduced to so much melted junk. Next, he opened the vehicle's hood and repeated the action.

Finally, he moved over to the radio; however before he destroyed it, he decided to try raising Troy once again. He glanced at the dust cloud; it was still about fifteen minutes out.

Taking the push-to-talk mike, he recited Troy's call sign. "Queen's Bishop Two to Queen's Bishop…Queen's Bishop Two to Queen's Bishop. Come in Queen's Bishop. Over." Not expecting a reply, Moffitt was surprised when Troy's voice came in, weak but clear.

"This is Queen's Bishop to Queen's Bishop Two. I copy your transmission. What is your Lima and Sierra?" Troy asked, using code words for location and situation.

"This is Queen's Bishop Two. I'm about ten kilometers east of rendezvous. Broken axle. And…" He paused. The dust cloud had grown larger in the past two minutes. "I'm afraid that we have company coming. Should be here in another ten."

"I copy. Over."

"Roger. Nothing further. Out." Ending the transmission, Moffitt opened the front panel on the radio, pulled the thermite grenade's pin, and shoved it into the radio. Within seconds, the thermite grenade melted the interior wiring and electronics, and burned through the transmitter's outer metal casing.

Lifting the ammo boxes and weapons, and adjusting them as best he could, Moffitt headed toward the rock outcropping, struggling under the uneven weight. From the weakness of the radio signal, he knew that Troy was still too far out to arrive in time to help.

* * *

Moffitt rolled several times, exploding bullets trailing in his wake, and just reached the boulder that Tully had dived behind. He paused just long enough to catch his breath and raise a single eyebrow in Tully's direction. Are you all right? He asked silently.

The Kentuckian nodded and wiped the sweat off his brow. He was all right for now.

Satisfied, Moffitt took up a prone position, sighted down the barrel of the Thompson, and fired. The half-track's waist gunner went down without protest. Moffitt critically examined the cave they were now backed into. It was not much of a cave, more of a hollow in the wall of the rock outcropping they had decided to defend. This was the second fallback position to which they had been forced to retreat, thus far. And while they still had the 50-cal, they were on the last ammo belt.

Far too quickly, the heavy Browning machinegun went silent. Moffitt gave Tully a sharp look of inquiry. Tully shook his head.

"That's it, Sarge," he drawled. "We're out of ammo." Shrugging, he picked up the second Thompson, slapped a full clip into it, and took up a prone position next to Moffitt.

Moffitt spotted movement from the enemy. At first, he was not sure what he had seen, but at last, he understood. They were pointing at a fast-approaching dust cloud from the west. Moffitt turned his binoculars in the direction indicated.

"Is it Troy?" Tully asked, voicing the question uppermost on their minds.

"Can't tell yet," Moffitt muttered. "Wait, I think I can make it out." He stopped, lowering the field glasses.

"Well?" Tully prompted.

Moffitt shook his head. "More Jerries," he said. "More than we can possibly handle by ourselves."

"Surrender?" Tully said it distastefully. He glared at Moffitt as if it were his fault.

Moffitt held his gaze without flinching. "Got any better ideas?"

At last, Tully dropped his eyes. "No."

Nodding, Moffitt ejected the clip from the Thompson and proceeded to break the weapon apart. Tully observed in silence for a minute and then mirrored his actions. Moffitt took out the final thermite grenade and used it to destroy the 50-cal.

Giving Moffitt a knowing grin, Tully removed the bayonet from its sheath and slid it into his boot, blousing his pants over it.

Moffitt returned the grin. In his knee-length khakis and calf-high desert boots, he could not do the same; however, it could work to their advantage. If he was searched and no weapons were found on him, then it was a calculated risk that the Germans would give Tully a pass.

"Ready?" Moffitt asked. At Tully's nod, Moffitt took out a white handkerchief and tied it to the end of his broken Thompson. Raising it over their heads, he waited for a response from the Germans. At last a voice called out in well-modulated English.

"Do you wish to surrender?"

"Yes!" Moffitt shouted. Now was not the time to reveal that he spoke German.

"Stand up. Hands over your head."

Exchanging fatalistic expressions, Moffitt and Tully did as ordered. Soon the Germans had them stripped of all equipment and personal items. Moffitt kept his eyes straightforward as he was being searched. Tully likewise was being searched to Moffitt's immediate left.

"You are both foolish men, Sergeant Moffitt." The officer in charge had identified himself as SS Col. Fries. "Very brave, but also very foolish."

"I assure you, Colonel, Private Pettigrew and I were merely doing our duty," Moffitt demurred. "Bravery had very little to do with it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tully being patted down for hidden weapons.

"Perhaps you are correct, Sergeant," Fries said. "Nevertheless…two men against a reinforced squad?" He glanced at the still, blanket-covered figures lying on the ground. "You have cost me several good men, Sergeant. For that I am afraid, you and Private Pettigrew will be held accountable."

"I don't understand, sir," Moffitt said. "What do you mean by 'held accountable'?"

"Sergeant Moffitt, you and Private Pettigrew are members of the Long Range Desert Patrol. You are commandos. You are tasked with disrupting our lines of communication, causing havoc, loss of life and materiel." Fries held Moffitt's eyes. "There is a standing summary execution order for any commandos taken prisoner."

"Colonel, I protest! We are Allied soldiers, taken prisoner in uniform. According to the Geneva Convention--"

"Sergeant…you have been taken prisoner by the SS, not the Wehrmacht. It will do you well to remember that." Fries turned to go, but paused and gave Moffitt a predatory, almost wolf-like grin. "You should have kept on fighting, Sergeant. By surrendering, you have signed your own death warrant."

Moffitt swallowed back the bile that threatened suddenly. Had he done as Fries claimed? Had he betrayed Tully's trust by surrendering to the SS? Glancing over to where Tully was still being searched, he stiffened when the enemy soldier started running his hands down Tully's pant legs and held his breath. To his amazement, the soldier completely missed the bayonet Tully had hidden in the boot.

Moffitt closed his eyes in relief. Perhaps it was foolish to pin their hopes of escape on a single bayonet, but at the moment it seemed to be their only chance--a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

* * *

Moffitt looked around the compound as he jumped off the back of the truck. The compound had been built around a natural oasis. It was a good-sized campsite, with at least a company of men, possibly more. The layout was comprised largely of tents with the exception of two, squat buildings, obviously built specifically for this purpose.

"The Al-Jahar Oasis, gentlemen," Fries began, "is fed by an underground, artesian well. Even at the hottest time of day, the water at its deepest point is ice cold and pure." He scowled. "The local population was not pleased when we moved in. Of course, they had no choice in the matter."

As Moffitt and Tully were escorted to the larger of the two buildings, they were grim witnesses to the execution of two men--civilians.

Before the officer in charge gave the order to fire, one of the men shouted, "_Vive le France!_" His words were still ringing in the air as he pitched over, dead.

Fries made no comment; however, his expression hard, he slapped his glove against his opposite hand. He glared at the dead Frenchmen and then faced Moffitt and Tully.

"You see now, Sergeant, how we deal with saboteurs and murderers. Those men were responsible for causing much destruction and terror from here to Algiers." He paused as if relishing the moment. "I know what you are thinking, Sergeant Moffitt. That we simply murdered those men." He shook his head. "I assure you, the men confessed to their crimes. Only then were they found guilty of crimes against the Reich and sentenced." He gave Moffitt a mocking look. "The SS are not barbarians, as I am sure you have been led to believe, Sergeant. We believe in the rule of law--**_our_** law--and we enforce it ruthlessly.

Moffitt nodded. He realized that Fries deliberately had them witness the double execution so that they would know what the future held in store for them. He and Tully exchanged wordless looks and continued without resistance toward the larger building.

* * *

They were taken first to a large, open room that looked like a cross between an office and processing center. The NCO-in-charge inventoried the prisoners' personal effects that had been removed in the field. He placed their watches, wallets, and anything else that had been found on them in large, manila envelopes.

"These will be inspected for anything of military value. Once our Intelligence officer clears the items, they will be returned to you."

"Yeah…and I'm the tooth fairy," Tully said sarcastically.

"Silence!" One of their guards made a threatening move toward him.

Tully immediately took a fighter's stance.

"Tully!" Moffitt snapped. "It's not worth it." Moffitt waved at the five other guards who were standing there, weapons aimed directly at them.

Holding the SS-guard's eyes, Tully finally nodded and backed off.

"Names?" the NCO-in-charge called out, sounding bored. As Moffitt and Tully reported their name, rank and serial number, he wrote them down in a leather-bound ledger. He spoke to the guards in German. Moffitt listened unobtrusively as the German NCO told the guards the cell numbers where they were to take the two prisoners.

As soon as their administrative processing was completed, Tully and Moffitt were separated. Moffitt watched as Tully was dragged off, handcuffed, to a holding cell, which the NCO had identified as Cell Number 26. Meanwhile, Moffitt was taken to Interrogation Room 5, a relatively small, empty room.

_No, not empty, _he amended silently.

Four pairs of chains hung down from the ceiling, wrist-bindings on the ends. Along the wall, meat hooks were placed at regular intervals. Moffitt felt a cold fist grab his insides. Having been captured and interrogated before, Moffitt had experienced firsthand what the SS did to prisoners, but until now, the rumors of their use of meat hooks was just that--rumors. He tried not to think of their possible uses, but only succeeded in imagining the most gruesome of tortures.

He was forced to strip down to his shorts and stand at attention in the middle of the room, unmoving. Two soldiers entered, each carrying two buckets. Before Moffitt knew what was happening, they dumped the buckets of ice-cold water on him, drenching him. Soon, the cold began to seep in, and his teeth chattered from the dampness. Water dripped off his hair onto his eyes. He shivered uncontrollably, the chill from the stone floor working its way up his bare feet and settling into his very bones.

A half-hour passed, and at last the door opened. A huge NCO walked in. He towered over the tall, lanky British sergeant, outweighing Moffitt by more than one hundred pounds. He had broad, muscular shoulders and large, beefy hands. A scar ran down from his left temple to his chin, giving his left eye a deceptively sleepy look.

He indicated that he wanted Moffitt to hold his hands above his head. Moffitt complied and was immediately cuffed by the wrists to a pair of chains hanging from the ceiling. As soon as Moffitt was immobilized, the SS sergeant closed his fist and struck the helpless prisoner a jackhammer blow to the abdomen. Moffitt had been unprepared for the first blow, and therefore, as the pounding continued relentlessly, he was unable to recover sufficiently and soon lost consciousness.

The ice water drenching him brought him back to awareness. He blinked his eyes blearily, partially blinded by the water, partially by the pain. It took him a moment to remember where he was. At that instant, Fries walked into his line of vision.

"Hello, Sergeant. I take it you had a good nap." He quirked an eyebrow at his men who chuckled in appreciation of the joke. "Now, that was only for starters. Sergeant Keller is a man who takes great pride in his work. Too much pride, I am afraid. Sometimes I must step in if I wish to get any useful information out of a prisoner. Take the two French saboteurs you saw today. Keller knocked them about so much that they were relatively useless to me for several days. Unconscious, mostly. Therefore, when they came to, I had to take over the interrogation." He smiled reminiscently. "They were only too happy to comply with my questions, if only to avoid another of Sergeant Keller's more enthusiastic sessions." He grabbed Moffitt by the hair, forcing him to look him in the eye. "Now, Sergeant…you will tell me what I want to know. What were you doing out here? What have you told your superiors? How many more of you are out there?"

"Moffitt…Sergeant. His Majesty's Army…serial number--"

A hard slap across the mouth stopped him from saying anything more.

"Sergeant, you will tell me what I wish to know, or you will have another session with Keller."

"Moffitt…Sergeant. His Majesty's Army…serial number--"

"Bah!" Fries shouted, again striking Moffitt open-handed across the mouth. "Very well. You have made your choice. Sergeant Keller!"

* * *

Awareness came back slowly. The burning ache from his shoulders told him that he was still hanging by the wrists from the ceiling. The rest of his body was one dull, pounding ache. He wondered how much more he would be able to take. As he assessed the damage to himself, he heard German voices approaching.

Fries and Keller.

Moffitt stiffened and then deliberately slumped back down. _What did Tully call it?_ He asked himself. _Ah, yes…playing possum._ He would have to take a trip one day to the American area known as The Cumberland Gap. It should make an interesting anthropological study: A rural population mostly cut off from the rest of the modern American society by its steep mountains, river valleys, and poor infrastructure. They were a people in many ways still largely unchanged from the first settlers that had set foot on its soil.

The door slamming open abruptly interrupted his erratic musings.

"Sergeant Keller, release the Englander and place him in the same holding cell with the American." Because Fries addressed his NCO in German, he spoke freely in front of Moffitt. "I need you to concentrate on the last partisan. Toussaint knows the names of the other underground leaders in Algiers, as well as, possible dates and locations of future targets. I need Toussaint to talk tonight."

"What if Toussaint does not talk, mein Herr?" Keller asked.

"Then the partisan and the Allied commandos will meet at dawn tomorrow--in front of the firing squad."

"But we have yet to learn anything of use from the commandos, Herr Oberst."

"Yes, I am quite aware of that," Fries said with a sigh. "But you know the rules…no prisoner will be kept on the premises for longer than twenty-four hours unless and if they begin to give us vital information. And then we only keep them for as long as necessary. I am afraid that the Englander is not likely to break soon. As for the American…he is a private. Whatever information he may have is of little importance to us."

Moffitt was suddenly grabbed by the hair, his head lifted roughly. He continued feigning unconsciousness.

"It is a shame really," Fries murmured in English. He was so close that Moffitt felt the German officer's hot breath against his cheek. "I would like to have men of such bravery under my command."

"_Mein Herr_?" Keller asked uncertainly.

Moffitt was suddenly released and he fell forward, his arms feeling as if they were being pulled out of their sockets.

"Have the Englander transferred to the cell, Sergeant Keller," Fries said. "Afterwards, bring Toussaint to me."

"_Herr Oberst, _I checked on Toussaint prior to coming here. The partisan is unconscious at the moment."

"Very well, as soon as our stubborn partisan awakes…" Fries's voice died out as he walked away from the interrogation cell.

The next instant, Moffitt felt hands releasing the clasps that were holding him up, and he crumbled to the floor in a heap. He felt hands grasping him firmly by the wrists and dragging him for a distance.

As he was being dragged, Moffitt kept going back to the conversation between Fries and Keller. They had a member of the underground who was close to breaking. He had to do something.

_The poor sot will likely break and cause the deaths of many others_, Moffitt thought_. I can't let that happen._

At last, he heard keys rattling against a door lock, rusty hinges protesting as they gave way, and he was met by the sound of a very welcoming voice.

"Sarge!"

* * *

Tully watched, angry, as Moffitt was tossed unceremoniously onto the hard stone floor. Without speaking, the guards left again, slamming the door shut behind him. Tully immediately knelt beside his friend and lifted him gently by the shoulders.

"Sarge?"

Eyes still closed, Moffitt smiled up at him. "Tully?" He barely croaked the name. "'kay…" he mumbled. "I'm okay."

"Yeah, I can see that," Tully said ironically. "Come on, let's get you off the floor…think you can stand?"

Moffitt looked like he was giving the question some serious consideration, but at last he nodded. "Think so…" He forced his eyes open, and blinking, tried to focus them on Tully.

Tully watched worriedly. Moffitt had been gone several hours. From the looks of things, they had done a real job on him in that time. _He's lucky that the lousy Krauts didn't do more--or worse,_ he thought.

Not speaking, Moffitt looked pointedly at Tully's boot and raised an eyebrow. Tully immediately understood that Moffitt was asking him about the bayonet. He nodded in reply--yes, the bayonet was still there.

Moffitt grinned painfully. "See…? I'm…feeling better…already."

Tully placed an arm under Moffitt and helped him to his feet. Slowly, he guided the injured NCO to one of the bunks, and carefully eased him back. Seeing that Moffitt was shivering almost uncontrollably and that he had been stripped to his underwear, Tully quickly took off his own uniform blouse and covered Moffitt with it. The shirt was still warm from Tully's own body heat, plus it was dry. Soon, Moffitt drifted off to sleep….

* * *

A hand clasped over his mouth abruptly woke Moffitt.

"Shhhh…" Tully was leaning over him, a finger to his lips. He removed his hand from Moffitt's mouth. "The guard's outside, Sarge. I think he's bringing us some chow." He held Moffitt's eyes. "It's now or never."

Moffitt nodded in understanding. Steeling himself, he sat up. He planted both feet firmly on the floor, ready to jump up at a moment's notice.

Tully pulled the bayonet from his boot and took up a position next to the door.

The two men waited tensely.

At last, the sound of keys jangling on the other side of the door alerted them. Hinges protesting, the door opened inwardly. A guard carrying a tray walked in followed closely by a second guard holding a rifle at port arms. The first guard had a sidearm, but it was holstered, freeing both hands to carry the tray. Too late, he noticed that something was amiss.

As one, the veteran desert rats attacked. Tully grabbed the rear soldier by the neck with his left arm, and bayonet in the right hand, stabbed him in the heart with a swift, upward slashing move.

Moffitt, meanwhile, had jumped up and easily dispatched the first soldier with a hard chop to the larynx. As the German automatically reached for his neck, Moffitt caught the tray in midair. Its contents remained undisturbed. The soldier collapsed to his knees, and then his eyes rolling backwards, he fell forward, face down. Moffitt felt for a pulse, but found none.

"Dead."

Tully nodded. "Now what?"

"Now we exchange places." Moffitt studied the two dead soldiers critically. "You take this one. That one seems closer to my size."

"What about the shirt?" Tully asked. "It's covered in blood."

"I'll keep yours and hope for the best," Moffitt said, his face lighting up in amusement.

Tully shook his head. "You like this cloak and dagger stuff a little too much, Sarge. You know that?"

"Well, you don't expect me to try sneaking out of here in only my knickers, do you?" As Moffitt spoke, he was busily removing the dead soldier's boots and trousers.

Tully grinned. "No, I guess we can't have you running around naked in the desert. You'd probably end up getting shot by our own guys."

* * *

Pistol in hand, Moffitt locked the door behind them. Tully stood next to him, holding the rifle at ready. They looked up and down the dim corridor, and hearing voices coming from the right end, they took off in the opposite direction. Moffitt stuffed the keys inside his tunic and winced as he hurried after Tully. There was a deep ache radiating from the solar plexus region where Keller had repeatedly pounded him, and a painful twinge from the chest area warned him of a possible bruised rib. His arms were still sore from his ordeal, but as shown earlier, it had not hindered him from taking out the guard.

_I'll live, but I don't think I'll enjoy it much_, he mused sardonically. He thought of the member of the Algiers underground that was being held somewhere in this building. He had to do something to get him out, or if necessary, find a way to silence him permanently.

At that moment, Tully looked back and signaled an all clear to him. Moffitt nodded and followed close behind.

_First things first_, he thought. _First, I make sure Tully's safely out, then I come back_.

Perhaps Moffitt might be accused of putting personal feelings ahead of duty, but he did not care. Tully was his not just his friend. He was a junior member of his commando team, and therefore, his responsibility. As the senior member of the team, it was his duty to ensure that the original mission, to find and report the location of the suspected SS prisoner of war processing site, was accomplished. By ensuring that Tully got away, then Moffitt was actually making certain that their primary mission would be carried out.

Now, all he would have to do was convince Tully.

_But first things first_.

Having had so much bad luck go against them, it was only fair that Lady Luck decided to smile upon them for a while longer. The two slipped unchallenged out of the building, and keeping to the shadows, made their way to the motor pool. They waited in the gloom, studying the layout. Moffitt saw that the vehicle park had two guards that roved singly in a clockwise and counterclockwise route. The guards met at the twelve o'clock and six o'clock positions on their tour. Otherwise, they were alone. It would be a relatively simple task to take them out one at a time.

They waited until the guards were respectively at the three o'clock and nine o'clock positions of their rounds. Moffitt took out the three o'clock, while Tully dispatched the nine o'clock. The two desert rats climbed into a staff car and calmly drove out of the motorpool.

As they approached the gate, Moffitt slipped the pistol out of the holster and held it hidden next to his right thigh. The gate guard challenged them as they drove up.

"Halt!" The guard walked up to Tully on the driver's side. "State your orders."

"We are in a hurry!" Moffitt replied sharply. "The partisan Toussaint has broken under interrogation, and Colonel Fries has ordered us to report the information to Headquarters. Now, let us through. It will be light soon. We must put as much distance behind us as possible before dawn!"

The guard looked momentarily uncertain, but then nodded decisively. "Very well. Pass." He saluted and stood aside, allowing the two Allied soldiers to drive off without further challenge.

About two hundred yards away, Tully let out what Moffitt could only surmise was a rebel yell.

"We did it, Sarge!" Tully yelled triumphantly, thumping Moffitt on the back. "Pretty as you please. Not a single shot fired." At Moffitt's painful wince, Tully immediately stopped whacking him, and he gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry." However, he instantly grew animated once again. "Sarge, you've just **_gotta_** teach me that Kraut language. It sure does come in handy."

"Anytime you wish to start lessons, Tully, just ask," Moffitt said, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned suddenly serious. "Pull over there, Tully…behind that dune."

"Huh? Why?" Tully did as ordered, but gave Moffitt a perplexed look.

"I have to go back," Moffitt said quietly. "Unfinished business, I'm afraid."

"What 'unfinished business,' Sarge? What are you talking about?"

"I overheard Colonel Fries talking to his Neanderthal, Keller," Moffitt explained. "I didn't make up the story that they're holding a member of the underground, a chap by the name of Toussaint. Apparently, he is rather high up in the chain and knows the names of other members of the Algiers resistance. Possibly, he also has the dates and locations of future sabotage missions." Moffitt looked away. "I can't let the Germans get their hands on this information, Tully. A lot of people could lose their lives, not to mention it could set back our operations by several months."

"How do you know all this?" Tully demanded. "That SS colonel didn't just walk up and tell you?"

"In a sense, he did," Moffitt said and explained. "I never let on that I understand German. Fries spoke to Keller in front me. He mentioned that if Toussaint doesn't give them the information they want tonight, then he'll be executed tomorrow at dawn."

"Sarge, I know this sounds cold, but…" Tully hesitated, and then added, "if he's gonna be executed anyway, then why--?"

Moffitt sighed. "I can't take the chance, Tully. Fries believes that Toussaint is close to breaking." He shook his head. "I can't say that I would blame him if he did. I only received a small taste of whatever he's been getting. But I'm afraid that they're ready to move on to the next phase--you know…the real nasty, Spanish Inquisition stuff."

"But Sarge, this is crazy!" Tully protested. "Whatever happens to this Toussaint guy isn't our responsibility! Our job is to go back and report the location of this--this house of torture to the G-2."

"You're right, Tully. It's not **_our_** responsibility." Moffitt spoke quietly, adding, "**_You're_** not going with me."

"What? But--!"

"You're going to do exactly what you just said: Report back to the G-2."

"**_Leave_** you? In **_your_** condition? Now I **_know_** you're crazy!" Tully was practically nose-to-nose with Moffitt. Unmindful of his senior partner's accompanying winces, Tully jabbed his forefinger into Moffitt's chest. "Sarge…crazy idea or not, there's no way in hell that I'm not going with you. Got that?"

"I'm giving you a direct order, Private Pettigrew--"

"And I'm not listening, Sergeant Moffitt," Tully replied defiantly. "We're partners, remember? We watch each other's back. Now, if you want to court martial me later, well, that's your call. **_If _**we live."

Moffitt sat back, deflated. He was in no condition to do this alone. He knew it, and Tully knew it. Struggling with himself, Moffitt reached a decision. He had his duty to perform, but he was not about to sacrifice Tully, too. He glared at him, knowing that there was little he could do to force the Kentuckian to follow his orders at this point. If the roles were reversed, Moffitt knew that he would do much the same thing.

"All right…**_partner._**" He emphasized the last word with a touch of irony. "Here's the deal. **_I_** go in--" He held up his hand to forestall any protests. "Tully, I'm the only one who speaks German. I'm the logical choice."

"Since when does logic have anything to do with it?"

"Since I said it does," Moffitt snapped. "Now you listen to me, Tully, and you listen good. I'm going in. You're staying put. If I'm not back by dawn, then you report back to our lines."

"Sarge, I'm not leaving without you!"

"Tully, if I'm not back by dawn, then I'll be dead, or as good as! There won't be anything you can do except maybe get yourself captured again. Now, I want your word, Tully. You make no attempt at rescue. You get back to our lines and report the location of this place. Do I have your word?"

"I--"

"Tully--your word!" Moffitt glared at Tully, willing him to obey. At the other man's look of anguish, Moffitt's expression softened. When he spoke again, it was no longer sergeant to private, but rather friend to friend. "Please, Tully. I need to know that at least one of us will make it home."

At last Tully nodded. He sat back, refusing to look at Moffitt. He had just given his word that he would sit back and not lift a finger to help his best friend. It was a promise that he knew he would keep, but at the moment he hated the man sitting next to him for having backed him into a corner.

"If you're not back by dawn," Tully said softly, "I'll head back to our lines and report what happened here." He hated himself for saying the words. He hated the war for bringing him to this moment. He hated his friend for always being willing to take the risks, but being unwilling to let others do the same thing in order to help.

"Thank you, Tully." Moffitt wanted to say more, but could not find the words. Instead, he said, "I need to borrow your bayonet."

Wordlessly, Tully handed it to him.

Nodding his thanks, Moffitt slipped it into his boot and faded into the night.

* * *

As Moffitt moved soundlessly through the compound, he decided that their absence had still not been discovered. He knew, however, that the situation could change in an instant. He had to go in, dispatch Toussaint, and move out. He felt inside his tunic and was gratified to feel the ring of keys still there.

_Where could they have gone?_ He asked silently. He must be more nervous than he thought. He had the keys; now all he needed was to find Toussaint.

Moffitt experienced a brief pang of remorse over having to kill the French partisan. Obviously, the man had held out against the SS interrogation through sheer willpower. However, it was only a matter of time before he broke, and Moffitt was in no condition to carry a badly injured man out of the compound.

He regretted not having Tully with him, but knew that his decision to leave him behind was the only right one. If anything happened to him, then at least one of them would be able to finish their mission.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The Englishman walked around the main building, hugging the deep shadows along the sun-baked outer walls. He inspected the building for windows or any other way to enter. He spotted three windows, but after studying them for a moment, dismissed them as too small for a grown man to crawl through. A moment later, he saw a second-story balcony leading out from a set of French doors.

Taking a running leap, Moffitt grasped the balcony, and bruised muscles protesting violently, he pulled himself onto the balcony and collapsed. His mental clock warned him that dawn was less than an hour away; therefore, Moffitt rallied his strength and hauled himself to his feet. Moving noiselessly toward the French doors, he listened intently and tried the door. It was unlocked.

_After all, who would be stupid enough to try sneaking into this house of torture, as Tully called it?_ He asked silently.

Sliding the door open, Moffitt slipped in. He stood to the side, to avoid being silhouetted against the glass doors. He glanced over the Spartan quarters: Empty bed with covers pulled down, end table, wardrobe, desk and chair. There were two doors that he could see. One opened out to a connecting room, probably the day rooms, while the other led to a private bath. The sound of running water in the bath told him the quarters' occupant was probably getting ready for bed.

Moving soundlessly, Moffitt crossed the room and headed toward the connecting outer room. The running water suddenly stopped. Moffitt froze, and then recovering, he ducked behind a bookcase and waited. He saw a shadowy figure cross the living area into the small, connecting kitchen.

The room's mysterious occupant turned on the light, and revealed his identity as that of Col. Fries. Moffitt slid down the wall until he was crouched against the tall bookcase, making himself as small as possible. He pulled the bayonet out from the boot and waited. He did not intend to kill the SS Colonel; however, if Fries spotted him, then Moffitt would take him out.

As he watched Fries puttering around in his kitchen, Moffitt concluded that Toussaint must not have regained consciousness. If Toussaint had broken, then Fries would be busy writing endless reports. Since he was preparing for bed, it was a safe bet that Toussaint had never regained consciousness.

Moffitt still had a good chance of dispatching the partisan before he awakened. He felt yet another twinge of guilt at the prospect of assassinating a helpless man in his sleep.

But what other option did he have? If Toussaint were unconscious, then he would be unable to assist in his own rescue. Moffitt was in no condition to carry a full-grown man out of a high-security, SS-run prison. He had no choice. He had to carry out the distasteful job of slitting the throat of an injured, unconscious ally.

Fries fixed a simple sandwich and poured a glass of milk. Taking his late-night snack with him, he returned to his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Moffitt let out a sigh of relief. Regaining his feet, he moved out.

* * *

Moffitt navigated the labyrinthine network of hallways, offices, interrogation rooms, and holding cells. Finding a corridor that appeared familiar, he looked around, and then made his way to the room where he was initially processed. He remembered filing cabinets, bulletin boards, and a ledger that listed the names of all the prisoners. More importantly, it gave their location.

At this late hour, the room was dark and unmanned. Moffitt walked in and headed toward the NCO's desk. He looked for the ledger, and after a few minutes of fruitless searching was about to give up when he found it. The information in the ledger was probably considered sensitive, but not classified; therefore, the NCO had stored it overnight inside the bottom drawer of his desk.

Opening the book to the latest entries, Moffitt immediately found his and Tully's last names and first initials, plus other personal information: Rank, service number, country of origin, and building location. Scanning the previous day's entries, he soon discovered the information he was looking for: Toussaint, M., civilian, France, Cell Number 15. Carefully replacing the ledger, Moffitt let out a long breath. He reached inside the tunic and pulled out the keys to the prisoners' cells.

Now, all he needed was to carry out his duty: Kill a brave man who had managed to stand up to the SS.

* * *

Tully looked worriedly at the horizon. It had definitely started to lighten in the past hour. He could see where the dark silhouette of the ridgeline in the far distance came up against the grays and blues of the pre-dawn sky. Moffitt was running out of time. In another half-hour, true dawn would be breaking, and Tully would have to start back toward friendly lines.

He turned his gaze back to the SS-compound, which is where his eyes had been glued ever since Moffitt had taken off. He kept willing Moffitt to suddenly appear, giving him his usual amused look, as if to ask, "Not worried, were you?"

"Not by much," Tully muttered. "Come on, Sarge…where are you?"

"Funny, I was just about to ask you the same question."

Tully spun around, his shock at being taken so completely by surprise apparent. Troy and Hitch were standing over him, expressions grim.

"Sarge!" Tully said in a stage whisper. "Where did you come from?" He had not heard the telltale roar of their jeep. In fact, so intent had he been in watching for Moffitt that he had not heard anything.

"We found your jeep and followed the convoy tracks," Troy said. "We parked the jeep a couple hundred yards east of here, figuring to scout out the area first. So…what's going on? Where's Moffitt?"

As succinctly as possible, Tully explained the situation.

Troy nodded, studying the horizon. "We don't have a lot of time. If we're gonna get him out of there, then we have to move fast."

Feeling the first stirrings of hope, Tully nevertheless had to speak up. "Sarge, I gave Moffitt my word that I'd head back to our lines if he wasn't back by dawn."

"And you will, Tully," Troy said. "You'll just be a few minutes late, that's all."

"Yeah, pal," Hitch piped in. "Since when does an Army operation ever start on time anyway?"

"Okay, Tully," Troy said seriously. "You've been watching this place all night. What do you suggest?"

* * *

Moffitt opened the cell door and quickly slipped inside. Closing it behind him, he peered in the gloom. He spotted a darker shadow against the far wall--a single cot with a lone figure lying on it. Taking the bayonet out of his boot, Moffitt crossed over to the other side of the cell. He could hear the labored breathing coming from the cot and hesitated momentarily.

Swallowing, Moffitt straightened his shoulders and moved swiftly. He clamped his hand over the still figure's mouth, adjusted the bayonet for a quick, slashing motion, and abruptly stopped.

As soon as his hand had closed over his sleeping victim, a pair of frightened eyes had suddenly flashed open and stared up at him. Moffitt stared back. His heart hammering, he slowly removed his hand, lowered the bayonet, and sat back. He took in the haggard, pain-lined face before him. It had been beautiful once, but age, years of deprivation, and no doubt the severe interrogation that she had been undergoing for the past day had taken their toll.

"A woman?" he hissed, unable to hide his shock. "I thought--"

"_Oui, m'sieur_," Toussaint whispered hoarsely. "I am Marie Toussaint." She gazed calmly at him. "And you…you are not _Bosche_?"

Moffitt shook his head. "I'm Sergeant Moffitt of His Majesty's Army."

Toussaint closed her eyes and smiled. "_L'Anglais_…" She breathed the word, as if in relief. "_Remercier Dieu…_thank God." Opening her eyes, she whispered, "_M'sieur_…please." She looked at the bayonet in his hand.

Moffitt quickly slipped it back into his boot. "Don't worry, _Madame_. I--I came to get you out of here."

Toussaint smiled in gentle amusement. "You are not a very good liar, _M'sieur_. You came to kill me, _non_?"

Moffitt shook his head in denial. "No…really. We're walking out of here. The two of us. I speak German very well. We'll--"

Toussaint grabbed his hands. "_Non!_ You must kill me, _M'sieur_," she insisted. "The _Bosche_…they have methods…" She paused as if seeing him for the first time and ran her fingers lightly across his bruised face. He winced slightly at her soft touch. "I see you are no stranger to their methods."

"_Madame_ Toussaint," Moffitt said with a reassuring smile, "we are both getting out of here. I promise. Everything will be all right."

Toussaint shook her head and took Moffitt's hands in hers. "_Non_…I have information that the _Bosche_ want. Please…you must kill me. I cannot face another session with Colonel Fries and Sergeant Keller."

"You won't have to, _Madame_. I heard how you stood up to their interrogation." He smiled proudly. "I am honored to meet such a brave woman."

Toussaint smiled tolerantly. "I am not brave, _M'sieur_. I am very much afraid…afraid of living long enough to betray my comrades. Believe me, dying would be a blessing. Please, _M'sieur_. Promise me that you will not allow me to live to become a traitor."

"_Madame_…we are both going to walk out of here," Moffitt insisted. "Neither Fries nor Keller will ever get his hands on you again. I promise. Now, no more talk of dying. I'm going to give you a hand up. Ready?"

As Moffitt tried lifting Toussaint, the woman let out a small cry of pain. Moffitt quickly removed the blanket that was covering her and gasped. Like Moffitt, she had been disrobed to her underclothes, but even that little clothing was in tatters. However, that was not what had shocked him. He knew that she had been in the hands of the SS for more than a day, but even he could not have imagined the extent of their barbarity.

There was not an area of her upper torso that was not heavily discolored with the yellowish signs of oncoming bruising. She also had ugly red welts crisscrossing her back, indicating that she had been whipped. Circular burn marks on her upper arms and breasts further showed the unspeakable brutality of her torturers.

A sob escaped Moffitt's lips before he could stop it. Toussaint gently placed her hand on his and smiled.

"You remind me of my own son. So strong and brave, but also gentle and caring." She shook her head. "It is difficult to care in time of war. It is a weakness they use against you." She lay back, eyes closed. "I cannot go with you, _M'sieur_. I am an old woman…so tired. The _Bosche_…" She shrugged.

"I won't leave you behind, _Madame_." Tenderly, Moffitt combed her hair back. Even in the poor visibility he could see that she had kind eyes, reminding him of his own mother. He determinedly tamped the unbidden confusion of emotions that unexpectedly washed over him. "I'll carry you out of here if it's the last thing I ever do in this bloody war," he promised, having no idea how, but determined that he would succeed in getting her to safety. Or die in the attempt.

Gently but hurriedly, Moffitt wrapped her in the blanket and stooped to lift her. She placed her hand on his arm, a feeble attempt to prevent him from picking her up.

"Please, leave me here," she begged.

"No…either we both leave together, or we both stay."

"It is too late," she said with a sad shake of the head. "Before the war I was happy. I had a wonderful husband and son." She paused for breath. "They are both dead now." She gave Moffitt a pleading look. "Please, _M'sieur_…I have nothing left, only my memories. I am ready to join them."

"Not while I still have a breath in me," Moffitt vowed fiercely. "I'm getting you out of here. You'll rejoin your comrades. You'll see. Everything will be all right."

The door slammed open at that moment. "So, Sergeant Moffitt and _Madame_ Toussaint."

Moffitt whirled round, his hand going automatically to the pistol at his side. He stopped midway. Several armed soldiers already had him in their sights. Col. Fries stood in the open doorway, a handgun pointed somewhat casually in Moffitt's general direction.

"Very wise, Sergeant Moffitt," Fries said. "You will live to see your execution at dawn. Now…the gun. On the floor and kick it this way."

Moffitt did as ordered.

Fries's gaze traveled down to Toussaint. "At least now I know your mission, Sergeant--the rescue of _Madame_ Toussaint from here." He gave them a smile that did not reach his flat eyes. "Of course, that only confirms my suspicion that the good lady here has vital military information--"

"No!" Moffitt cried. "Colonel Fries, please, sir…Rescuing _Madame_ Toussaint was not my mission. I didn't even know she was here until I overheard you mention her name to Keller. Please, she doesn't know anything. I mean, if she hasn't talked yet, it's likely she hasn't anything to tell you."

Fries laughed outright at this blatant lie. "Really, Sergeant, you missed your calling. You should have been a stage actor." He grew deadly serious. "No, Sergeant, it has been the experience of the SS that people who truly know nothing will eventually start making up something, anything to stop the interrogation. Only those who have something to hide hold out for as long as possible. But eventually, they break too."

"_Non_…" whimpered Toussaint. She looked pleadingly at Moffitt. "_M'sieur_…you promised. Please…you gave me your word."

"_Madame, _I'm so sorry," Moffitt said, his head down. He had failed. He had given her his word, and he had failed.

"Come, come, Sergeant Moffitt," Fries said expansively. "There is no need to apologize. I am sure that _Madame_ Toussaint understands that you did your best. Unfortunately, it was not good enough." He said this last with a sneer.

At his words, Toussaint spoke in rapid-fire French, spouting off a string of invectives.

"Silence!" Fries shouted, aiming his handgun at her.

Instinctively, Moffitt moved in front of her, shielding her with his own body. The guards all took up defensive positions, their rifles aimed directly at him. Moffitt felt someone tugging at his tunic from behind. He turned and immediately knelt down next to Toussaint. He took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing it fervently.

"_Madame_…can you ever forgive me?" he asked.

"There is nothing to forgive. As the colonel said…you did your best."

"But it wasn't good enough," Moffitt replied in anguish.

Toussaint took his face in her hands and pulled him down to her. Tenderly, she kissed him goodbye. "Do not grieve over me," she said. "It is my time. I am no longer afraid. Please, help me up."

"But--"

"It is all right…" she said with quiet reassurance. "I think I can stand on my own two feet now."

Moffitt helped her up to a sitting position, making sure that the blanket remained wrapped around her to maintain her dignity. Helping her to her feet, he held onto her unsure whether she could indeed stand on her own. She looked so weak as if a soft breeze might topple her over. Knowing that this was likely the last time he would see her, he remained close to her, keeping a supporting arm around her waist.

Their farewells were cut short by Fries.

"Take the sergeant outside. He is to be executed at first light. Oh, and escort _Madame_ Toussaint to Interrogation Room Number 5." Fries glared at the woman who had given him so much trouble.

Toussaint raised her chin and gave him a haughty look in return. "You waste your time, _M'sieur_. I have nothing to say."

"We shall see how long you hold out, dangling from a meat hook, flopping about like a fish!"

Toussaint shuddered under Moffitt's arm. Despite her best efforts to appear calm, she visibly paled.

Moffitt felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. He had seen the meat hooks in the interrogation room. Just the sight of them had filled him with an irrational dread.

"You can't," he protested. "It's monstrous!"

"Oh, nothing so dramatic, I assure you," Fries said disingenuously. "The whole concept is really quite simple. The prisoner is hung by the back of the neck to the hook--like a painting." He smiled expansively as he described the deceptively innocuous details. Holding Toussaint's eyes, he added with a sardonic shrug, "Gravity takes care of the rest. When the sharpened end enters the brain, it is over." He gave her a look of appraisal. "Of course, it is the smaller, lighter ones who last the longest."

"No!" Moffitt yelled. "I won't let you!" Unexpectedly, Moffitt whirled Toussaint in front of him, almost as a shield. Before the others could react, he whipped the bayonet that was still inside his boot, and in an upward thrusting motion, he stabbed her through chest. He felt her tense in his arms, her eyes wide with shock. The next instant her expression softened into a smile, and the barest of sighs escaping from her lips, she went limp.

Moffitt fell to his knees, holding her carefully in his arms. "I'm sorry...sorry." He choked on the words, almost unable to get them out.

"_Merci, mon fils,_" she whispered. She gave him a blissful smile and died in his arms.

Moffitt shook as he was suddenly inundated by a tidal wave of grief. "**_No_**!" The single word was torn out of him, a primal cry of pain. He was grabbed from behind and dragged to his feet. Moffitt looked in horror at the blood on his hands, and disregarding his own danger, struggled against his captors in a futile attempt to wipe the blood off.

_She thanked me_, he realized in despair. _She thanked me for murdering her_.

"Outside! Take him outside!" Fries raged. "He is to be executed at first light! Do you hear me? He breathes his last at first light!"

* * *

Unresisting, Moffitt allowed himself to be hauled bodily outside into the pre-dawn morning.

Madame Toussaint was dead. He had promised to save her; instead, he had killed her. He had made an empty promise without any consideration as to how he would carry it out. But empty or otherwise, he had given her his word. He thought of all the times that he and his teammates had acted on impulse only to have everything turn out better than expected.

Had he grown complacent? Had victory come so easily so many times that he expected to win each time he stuck his neck out? He visualized Madame Toussaint's pain-lined face. She had been an attractive woman at one time, a woman who was loved and cherished by her husband and son. She had fought for her country in the dangerous, shadowy war of the underground.

_And I killed her_.

He recalled her last moments. She had been happy. Not because she was exceptionally courageous, but because until that moment, she had lived in fear--the fear of betraying her countrymen. Her death released her from that fear.

Moffitt took his position in front of the same sun-bleached wall where the two men had been executed. It was pockmarked with hundreds of bullet holes, a silent testament to the many who had died before him. Moffitt faced the line of soldiers who stood ramrod straight, their cold eyes staring back at him. To his left, the horizon was steadily growing lighter, the dawn of the new day breaking.

_My last dawn_, he thought. _I'm glad Tully isn't here. At least I didn't fail him_.

Colonel Fries walked up to Moffitt and read from a piece of paper. His words were lost to Moffitt whose attention was drawn to the desert sands lying awash in the gold of the sun. He recalled his many trips to North Africa as a boy and regretted that he would never excavate another archeological site alongside his father. Still, if he were to die today, he was glad that it was here in this desolate land that was more home to him than his own had ever been.

Fries took his place next to the firing squad and started shouting the familiar orders.

"Ready!" The line of soldiers cocked their weapons and brought them up. "Aim!" As one, the soldiers sighted down their weapons, while Fries raised his arm. About to give the final command, the SS-Colonel was abruptly silenced when several shots unexpectedly rang out, the first one hitting him in the throat. Looking up, Moffitt spotted a lone gunman on the roof of the interrogation building--Tully.

The soldiers that had comprised the firing squad were running helter-skelter for cover as the Kentuckian's deadly fire rained down on them. Tully waved at Moffitt and pointed at a half-track less than fifty yards away.

Moffitt waved back, taking advantage of the confusion to make his way toward the vehicle. Before he had taken a couple of steps, however, Keller was in front of him, blocking his way. The larger man charged at Moffitt, his massive hands making a grab for Moffitt's throat. At the last second, Moffitt slipped under Keller's grasp and used leverage to knock him off his feet. With a lightning move, Moffitt kicked out and connected solidly with Keller's temple. The German NCO went down without another sound.

The next instant Moffitt heard the familiar roar of an American jeep and the staccato clamor of a 50-caliber machinegun. Suddenly energized, he ran toward the half-track, climbed aboard, and headed to a spot directly below Tully.

Troy and Hitch came tearing into the compound, causing further mayhem, several explosions following in their wake. As Hitch expertly weaved in and around the compound, driving through tents, knocking over stacked drums of fuel and boxes of ammunition, Troy fired steadily, punctuating the 50-cal with several well-thrown grenades.

Grimly, Moffitt maneuvered the half-track so that Tully could leap safely into it. As soon as Tully was onboard, he took up the mounted 30-millimeter cannon, and sprayed the compound with a continuous volley of lethality.

With both Moffitt and Tully immediately out of harm's way, Troy waved the signal to withdraw.

* * *

Troy watched Moffitt, concerned. They had been back for almost twenty-four hours, and in that time, Moffitt had spoken only a few words. They were in a small French café, hunched over several empty bottles of various potent spirits. Hitch had already left with a pretty female clerk who had laughing blue eyes. Troy himself had been watching a brunette whose smoky-gray eyes held hidden promise.

But his thoughts kept coming back to his Second.

Moffitt was on his umpteenth shot of straight whiskey. While the Englishman rarely overindulged, when he did one would be hard-pressed to know that he was actually drunk. It took someone who knew him well to spot the nuances--exaggerated enunciation, deliberate movements, a soft flush to his cheeks, and a dull sheen in his usually alert eyes.

Moffitt tossed back the latest shot, and slowly and carefully, upended the glass on the table in front of him, placing it on the apex of a steadily growing pyramid.

_Figures,_ Troy thought wryly. _Even drunk, he's into pyramids_. And Moffitt was definitely drunk. Troy stood. It was time to take his friend home. A hand on his sleeve stopped him.

"Let 'im be, Sarge," Tully said. "I'll take care of him."

Troy looked down at Tully, and raising a single eyebrow, sat down again. "Are you sure, Tully? I mean, you've earned this forty-eight hour pass. No one expects you to play babysitter."

Tully took out a matchstick from his right breast pocket and made a show of studying it. "He's my partner," he said simply. "Besides, I'm kind of used to watching his back."

"Something's eating him inside, Tully," Troy said uneasily. "Something he doesn't want to talk about."

"I know, Sarge." Tully placed the matchstick in the side of his mouth, all the while keeping his eyes on Moffitt. "Don't worry…like I said, I'll take care of him."

"Okay," Troy said. He slapped Tully on the shoulder. "If you're sure." Standing, his eyes searched the café for the brunette. Spotting her at a table surrounded by other attractive nurses, he made his way to her. She had been asked to dance by several soldiers through the course of the night but had deflected any further advances.

At one point Troy had made eye contact with her, and a silent message had passed between them. Now, as he approached her, she looked up and smiled, as if she had been waiting for him. There was no need to exchange words. Standing, she took his outstretched hand, and they walked out together.

Tully, meanwhile, studied his senior partner. A look of anguish flitted across Moffitt's face, indicating he was reaching a breaking point. He raised the latest shot glass to his lips and stopped, the glass hovering in front of him. Abruptly, he hauled back and threw the glass with all the strength he could muster at the far wall, and without pause, shoved the glass pyramid off the table. The shot glasses fell to the floor in a resounding crash.

The background conversations inside the café came to a shocked standstill. The bartender signaled the bouncer to remove them. Tully immediately stood up and blocked the much larger bouncer from approaching Moffitt.

"I'll handle this," Tully said quietly.

"_M'sieur_…we must insist that you and your friend leave," the bouncer said.

Tully crossed his arms over his chest. "My friend and I will leave when we're ready. So, why don't you--?"

The bouncer made a move to go around Tully and make a grab for Moffitt; however, a vice-like grip on his wrist stopped him from laying a hand on the Englishman.

"Now, look, friend…I already told you. My buddy and I will leave when we're ready." He squeezed harder. The bouncer winced at the unexpected pain. "What do you say?"

The bouncer nodded. "_Oui, M'sieur_."

"Good. Now, my friend needs another glass. Would you mind?"

The bouncer shook his head, and then nodded. "I will get him another glass."

"Thanks," Tully said, releasing his hold. He sat down, his attention back on his friend. "Sarge…whatever is eating away at you…you need to talk about it. Come on…we're partners, remember?"

Moffitt shook his head. "I failed her, Tully. I gave her my word that I'd get her out of there, but I killed her instead."

"Her?" This was the first that Tully had heard that a woman was involved.

Moffitt nodded. "Remember Toussaint…the partisan? **_He_** was really a **_she_**…a woman." He looked at Tully. "I couldn't do it. I had the bayonet in my hand, and I was ready to cut his throat while he slept without any remorse. And then, I saw…not a man, but a woman." He shook his head. "And they say chivalry is dead."

"Sarge, you couldn't have known she was a woman. You did what you had to."

"Mission accomplished, Tully?" he asked bitterly. "I dispatched a captured partisan in order to keep her from revealing vital military information. I did my bloody duty." He grabbed the half-empty bottle and brought it to his lips, gulping down a long swig, unmindful of the large amounts dripping down onto his uniform. He slammed the bottle down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I promised her I'd get her out of there, but she wanted to die. She was afraid that if she lived, she'd betray her comrades. I couldn't do it at first because I was a coward. I couldn't bring myself to kill her."

"And that's bad? Sarge, you're not like them--like the SS! I mean…yeah, we do things we don't like, but kill a woman? Sarge, it's not your fault you're a decent human being."

"She said it's hard to care during war…that it's a weakness the enemy will exploit against us. Which they did." He gazed dully at Tully. "But it's harder not to care, to abandon everything I've ever believed in."

"Sarge…what finally happened?"

Moffitt looked at his hands and started to shake. In panicked, jerky movements, he started wiping his hands on his shirt. "I killed her, that's what happened." He spoke in a harsh, broken whisper. "They were going to take her back for interrogation. Fries threatened to…to…" His voice died out as he again saw the meat hooks on the wall. He covered his eyes, willing the image to disappear. "…to do unspeakable things to her. I couldn't let it happen. I'd promised her…"

He reached for the bottle again, but his hands shook so badly that he could not hold it steadily. Tully took it from him and poured him another shot. Wordlessly, he pushed the glass toward Moffitt.

His hands still shaking, Moffitt picked the glass up and brought it to his lips, spilling most of its contents. Placing the glass back on the table, Moffitt sat staring at it for a long time. Finally, he spoke, his words barely audible. "I held her in my arms as she died, Tully, and--" His voice cracked. "She thanked me before she died. She said, 'Thank you, my son.' It was like killing my own mother."

Tully whistled softly. "Sarge, you did what you had to do. She **_wanted_** you to do it. She knew she couldn't last through another interrogation. She willingly gave her life to protect her friends. You need to stop beating yourself over this."

"No greater love, eh, Tully?" Moffitt asked ironically.

Tully nodded. "Yeah… something like that, Sarge. She was a very brave woman. She died so that others might live."

Moffitt shook his head regretfully.

"No, my friend. She wasn't brave. She was so afraid of living that dying became preferable." He gave Tully a look of profound sadness. "Haven't you heard, Tully? There's no such thing as bravery. There are only degrees of fear. She feared betraying her friends more than she feared death." At last the tears came, and Moffitt covered his face. "I failed her, Tully. And I fear that I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. I-I don't know if can…"

With that Moffitt put his head down on the table. Tully quickly stood and walked around the table. He checked his friend and saw that he was out cold. Shrugging, he bent down and grabbed Moffitt by the collar and belt, easily lifting him in a fireman's carry. Staggering only slightly, he waved at the bouncer as he carried Moffitt out of the cafe.

* * *

Laying him on the bunk, Tully removed Moffitt's boots and covered him with a blanket. About to walk out, he thought of Moffitt's last words...

_"I failed her, Tully. And I fear that I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. I-I don't know if can…"_

Tully looked down at him and spoke softly. "Sure you will, Sarge. You'll carry what happened inside, and it'll make you stronger." He headed out, but paused at the tent's opened flap. Knowing that Moffitt couldn't hear him, he added, "Y'know, it's funny…but for a guy who doesn't believe in bravery, you sure are one of the bravest guys I've ever known."

The End


End file.
